The Mona Lisa Smile

Stop looking at me!

Your smile means nothing to me. You are not funny; not funny at all.

You know what, I have never seen your teeth. I’m sure they are rotten. All of you had rotten teeth prior to the discovery of Colgate.

You don’t have teeth. I am sure you do not have teeth. Your people were not very hygienic.

You are a self centered black hole, sucking everything and everybody.

I cannot hide from you. Your cynical smile follows me. Bitch!

My god, I just realized it. You are a drag queen, always looking at me, feeling sorry for me, with the smile of someone whose pity is bigger than her compassion, That is what you are, a drag queen.

No, no, no you are not the type of drag queen who is showing the larger self. You are hiding yours.

Of course, you would like to see yourself as caring for others, as a giving soul, but, you know, the flatness of your face, the cynical smile reveals the truth about you: a rigid reactionary who believes to be in control, on a podium, judging me for everything I did that never met your expectations.

Pathetic! A typical passive aggressive!

You smile betrays you. It is the same smile of so many others who love to create a problem, any problem, and then judge the failings of others in order to feel superior. Bitch!

But why do I get so angry when I see you?

I know. Of course I know. It is your smile, triggering, but never willing to accept responsibility,  purposely triggering, opening old wounds.

You could have had the sensuality of, you know her, la de Alba, La Maja; or the repressed sadness of any Flemish woman waiting by a window; even better, the power of the liberator, Juana, la de Arco; but not you. You chose the “it is not my fault" kind of attitude, and then dismiss everybody around, and never assume responsibility over your actions.

There were those days when you reminded me of the school principal, well, ex-school principal, since by the time we met, she was a professor. The kind of professor who sits at faculty meetings, and waits and waits for the opportunity to pontificate and evaluate everybody else, and then in her quarters, surrounded by her puppets, she plots, and plots behind closed doors.

You and her are the same. You love to destroy everyone and anyone.

But in public, like the professor  at faculty meetings, there you are, with your smile, assuming the role of grand dame.

You annoy me. I refuse to accept your patronizing mentality.
   
But your smile is not only a judgmental smile. It is the projection of cruel pleasure. It is the same smile of the vicious, bitchy gay male, making rather intellectually limited generalizations, like the Inconsequential professor, certainly, not very bright, who said, while smiling, "los boricuas son todos vagos".

I know you are not interested in the dynamics of the colonial situation, the welfare state, underground economies and working conditions among members of the Puerto Rican proletariat.

You are simply trying to annoy me.

I know that you could not stand the idea that an older man would not fall for such a hot euro drag queen.

I never liked transvestites and you are a racial and cultural transgressor.

Porfapliis! I know better. Trying to anger the objects of your desire is an old Latin American telenovela technique that does not work with me. And you desire me.

I might be many things but, hardly a masochist who would lose "cordura" when confronted with such tricks. If you want to conquer me all you need to do is to say so, but no, all you do is smile.

Angry? No kidding. Sure! And Columbus discovered America.

Which America, you ask. The Southern hemisphere, you know that. The Northern one was discovered by Ponce de Leon.

My grandmother was a de León, but no Ponce. True, she and one million more Puerto Ricans are surnamed de León. Most probably her ancestors were slaves in one of the Ponce de León plantations, but not according to my mother. She was a descendant of the conquistadores. Really! She was not a Ponce, only de León. Hello, is somebody there? Few could keep the Ponce part, and certainly not, my mama. Sorry mama, you were just another de León. No Ponce for you, dear. But you kept the smile, as if the Ponce was still there next to the the de León.

My mama was just like you, bitch! You and your idiotic Mona Lisa smile.

I wish there were not so many guards around. I would slash your face and reveal who is on that canvas.